


Our Thing

by agentofmerlin



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 23:02:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6773842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentofmerlin/pseuds/agentofmerlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Music is our thing. Isn't it, Mom?"<br/>"Always."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Thing

**1980**

A young Tony Stark, clad in blue pajama bottoms and a button-up top of the same exact shade, tip-toed down the stairs. Music was drifting out of the sitting room; specifically, piano music, the kind that always made Tony feel warm and fuzzy inside. He peered around the corner. His mother sat at the piano bench, her bathrobe wrapped tightly around her and a half-finished cup of coffee perched precariously atop the piano lid. Maria Stark was smiling, her hands flowing over the keys with ease.

"Mom?" Tony ventured. The music stopped. "Morning, Tony," she greeted, taking a gulp of coffee.

"What are you doing? Where's Dad?"

"Your father was called to the office unexpectedly. Says he'll probably be there all day. I was already awake when he left, so I decided to take this opportunity to play the piano this morning. You know your father doesn't like it in the morning." Tony nodded. His father didn't much like the piano at any time of the day but especially in the mornings.

"Well I like it," Tony declared. Maria laughed, a sound almost more beautiful to Tony than the music itself. "I know you do," she replied, patting the expanse of bench next to her. Tony seated himself next to her. His feet could just barely touch the floor beneath him.

"Can you teach me this one?" he asked almost eagerly.

"This one? It's difficult."

"I know, but I want to try." Maria agreed, instructing him on where to place his hands and on what notes to press. An hour later, Tony had the basics of the melody down, enough so that, to Tony, it sounded almost as pleasant as it did when Maria played it. Almost.

"That's wonderful, Tony," she praised, "keep this up and you'll have mastered it in no time." Tony grinned at her praise. "Why doesn't Dad like music?" he questioned.

"I don't really know," Maria mused. "I think he just likes complaining about things to hear himself complain sometimes."

"That's dumb."

"Completely," Maria agreed.

"He doesn't like me listening to music or playing," Tony confessed.

"Well don't you let that stop you," Maria said firmly, a streak of passion overtaking her otherwise calm demeanor, "you do what you want to do and what you think is right. And hang what your father or anybody else thinks. Alright?" Tony nodded.

"Music is our thing. Isn't it, Mom?" Tony questioned hopefully. Maria hugged her son, kissing the top of his head.

"Always."

**2016**

The porch creaked under his feet as he ascended the stairs. He pulled the key out and unlocked the door, letting himself in almost mechanically. He coughed, dust filling his nostrils. He hadn't been back since...well...since the accident. Tony flipped a light switch, and a pale light illuminated the hallway. There were sheets covering most of the furniture, including the piece he had come specifically to see. As he entered the sitting room, a flood of emotions hit him.

_"Music is our thing. Isn't it, Mom?"_

_"Always."_

He pulled the sheet off the piano. It sat just as it had always did. It was as if nothing had changed, except it had. Years had passed since music had flowed from its keys. Twenty-five years, in fact. Tony pulled the bench out and sat down, his hand lightly touching C-major. He had not played since his mother's death. He had tried several times, but the pain had always been too much. Music and his mother's instruction had since become a memory, a memory that consumed him yet that he had never been able to touch.

He took a breath and pressed D. Seconds later, he found himself playing for the first time in twenty-five years. It was the song his mother had taught him on that day in 1980 and the song she had played before she and his father had left on that fateful drive.

 _Try to remember the kind of September_  
_When life was slow and oh, so mellow_

He allowed the tears to fall, falling silently upon the keys as he continued to play.

 _Deep in December It's nice to remember_  
_Although you know the snow will follow_  
_Deep in December It's nice to remember_  
_The fire of September that made us mellow_

The last note echoed through the house as he bowed his head, eyes closed. He could almost feel his mother beside him. He lifted his head, his eyes roaming the room. He smiled.

"Love you, Mom."

   

**Author's Note:**

> Civil War left my heart in shambles, and I had to piece it back together somehow. The song "Try to Remember" is from The Fantasticks and was also featured in Civil War.


End file.
